


The Lesson with the Bats

by BarelyFragile



Series: October 2017 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Harry really likes to stare, Bats, Draco has nice eyes, M/M, Mild pining?, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarelyFragile/pseuds/BarelyFragile
Summary: Harry's been assigned a small bat to transfigure, and Draco just can't help but get in his way. Really. It's not the blonde's fault Harry's so taken with his eyes. And his voice. And his fingers.





	The Lesson with the Bats

**Author's Note:**

> Four for four! I'm actually quite amazed with myself for having managed to write four of these things, and it wouldn't be possible without drarry-halloween-fest's prompts. Today's prompt was bats, and I had a bit of fun writing this one. Again, don't need to read the previous parts to get it, but they do provide context!

Mondays for Harry were dedicated to transfiguration. The lessons started bright and early at eight in the morning, and he always found himself rushing after breakfast to make it to class on time. McGonagall had been busy with her new responsibilities as Headmistress, but still enjoyed teaching, and had had a tough time just letting go. Instead, she taught N.E.W.T. level transfiguration every other week, and had the new professor, Johnston, teach the other days. 

Today, unfortunately, was a Johnston day. Harry groaned internally to himself as he slipped into class seconds before Johnston closed the door behind him. It wasn’t that Johnston was a poor teacher. However, Harry, and his fellow seventh and eighth years, had all become accustomed to McGonagall’s stern ways and teaching style, and they missed the days she wasn’t around. Johnston himself focused more on practical work than the theoretical subject, and their homework often involved small projects and demonstrations rather than the papers they’d had to write for the entirety of their education. 

On the bright side, Harry had never felt so confident about his transfiguration skills (not that he knew what he’d ever use them for). Johnston, while good for the general improvement of their magical ability, was also one of the most unfair professors Harry had ever had the bad luck of being taught by. A correct answer to any question was always followed by more questions until the limit of Harry’s knowledge was reached, and even Hermione, who had originally liked Johnston’s style, sometimes felt exhausted by the unforgiving pace he kept them at.

Or perhaps that was just N.E.W.T. year, as McGonagall had grimly told them.

Harry stared at the tiny bat in stationed in front of him and huffed in exasperation. The thing was quite ugly, in an adorable sort of way, and would easily fit within the palm of Harry’s hand, barely more than an inch in length. It hung upside down from its perch and slumbered on peacefully while he tried to perform the complex bit of magic required of them today. Apparently, transfiguring a small bat into a large bat of a different species was not so simple as casting an engorgio at the poor thing, and Harry thought sadly of Seamus’ dead bat that had now been placed in front of the class as an example of what not to do. 

He cast the charm they’d learned about last week and concentrated on the minute differences he knew about between the bumblebee bat in front of him and the megabat he was aiming for, feeling hopeful. Nothing happened for a moment. And then, the bat started to grow. The magic prodded the small creature until it spread its wings and grew a few inches, then stopped. 

Harry sighed, feeling defeated. He’d been attempting the charm for the past two hours and all he had managed so far was to make a large bumblebee bat. The five he’d worked with previously had all died and Harry hoped with all his heart that this one would survive. Each dead bat earned the entire class a quick reminder that these bats were endangered, and Harry would give anything to shut Johnston up (and for the guilty feeling in his gut to go away). 

Behind him, Draco chuckled. Harry spared him a quick glance, noting with satisfaction that the annoying blonde had also yet to succeed at his task. Unlike Harry, however, Draco appeared calm and collected. He hadn’t asked for a second bat – in fact, Harry was sure that the git hadn’t cast any transfiguration spells at the tiny thing at all! Instead, he was scribbling away on a long scroll of parchment, writing expressions with more letters than numbers, but which still distinctly reminded him of the last time he’d had to attempt any mathematics; crossing out entire sections of work; and circling what seemed to be random numbers and equations.

Harry stared at Draco’s work, confused as to why Draco was doing his arithmancy homework – because what else could it be? – during transfiguration, and why arithmancy looked so difficult. He didn’t even know what the subject was used for, though both Draco and Hermione had gushed about the subject and assured him that it was enlightening. 

To his left, Harry noticed that Hermione was engaged in similar work. Her piece of parchment was nowhere near as messy or full of mistakes and doodles as Draco’s, but rather seemed to be a thought-out list of expressions that Harry couldn’t read. She’d made neat little x’s alongside certain lines, and starred others.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” asked Harry. What he really needed was a distraction from these four-hour long lessons.

“Trying to transfigure a bat, Harry,” she said patiently, as if it was the most obvious thing. Harry blinked, and she seemed to sense his confusion. 

“That looks like your arithmancy work.”

“Yes. Did you know that even basic arithmancy has wide applications to all sorts of subjects? Like transfiguration.” She still hadn’t looked up from the parchment, but was writing out another line in her tiny handwriting.

“Wait,” Harry paused, disbelieving. “Are you saying that writing out some numbers will help you transfigure a megabat?”

Next to him, Hermione let out a longsuffering sigh. “It’s not just some numbers, you know.” She fixed him with the same half-hearted glare she used when she felt exasperated and just a little bit hurt by his inattention. “But, yes, it will. You have a protective charm around your bat, by the way,” she said matter-of-factly, before turning back to her parchment of equations. Harry wondered if Draco was doing the same thing behind him. 

Then, his brain caught up with what she’d said and Harry cursed. No wonder his magic had been feeling a bit strange while he tried to transfigure his bat! The way he normally performed magic required a whole lot of power and not a lot of finesse. He knew this transformation required a lot more control than he’d been used to, but he’d figured that he’d first try making his bat too large, and then trying to slowly expend less power until he got it just right. The method was usually good enough to give him a good feel for exactly how much magic a certain spell required. Today, he’d been throwing as much of his magic as he could at the bat, and not much had happened (other than five dead bats). 

Harry quickly fired out a few diagnostic spells he’d learned from the small amount of time he’d spent with the Aurors, and they confirmed what he’d suspected. There was a small bubble of protective magic just around the bat which seemed to absorb most of his magical power. Harry sighed in frustration, already knowing who the culprit was. 

When he turned to glare at Draco, the blonde ignored him. Harry gave his pale forehead a sharp poke with the tip of his wand, and he looked up, feigning innocence. Harry was not fooled. 

“Remove the spell!” he hissed at his roommate and supposed best friend. He could feel the anger and irritation that was so often present around the git flare up within him, and he had to physically hold himself back from punching said git when a slow smirk worked its way across his face. 

“Whatever do you mean, Potter?” asked Draco, taunting. 

“You know exactly what I mean, Draco,” replied Harry, refusing to rise to his bait. The blonde git enjoyed provoking Harry, and nothing made him start up quite as easily as the way Draco said his last name, just spat it out like it was the ugliest thing he’d ever heard. It frustrated him to no end, even though Harry knew Draco enjoyed his own games and Harry’s attention. He refused to give in. 

Draco smirked even wider. “I’m sure I have no idea.” Draco turned back to his own parchment of arithmancy equations.” Harry continued to stare at the boy, knowing that he’d break eventually. He enjoyed being right far too much to leave Harry alone, and he was soon proven right. “I hear if you’re careful and precise, you can undo any permanent protective charm,” the blonde said after another moment. 

Harry placed his hand on the long length of parchment and grabbed the frantically moving forearm. It had the desired effect. Draco stilled immediately and Harry tightened his grip. The pale boy stared at caramel fingers curled around his arm, slowly, as if counting each digit, before looking up to gaze at Harry. The teasing light in his eyes was gone, and he stared into stormy grey showing an intensity that reminded Harry of the other times they had touched. It awed him, sometimes, how strong of an effect a simple touch had on boy, and filled him with painful longing as well. 

A quick memory of bony but warm toes gently rubbing at his ankles flashed across Harry’s mind, and he had to shake his head to remember where he was. Nevertheless, he could feel the blush that grew upon his cheeks and made its way down his neck, warming his skin to uncomfortable degrees. 

Harry cleared his throat, though the noise came out more strangled than he’d intended. Draco continued to stare back at him, and had his pupils always been that wide? Harry wasn’t sure, but he had to stop himself from tracing the lines around the face that he’d come to know so well. 

“Isn’t there an easier way?” he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper, with just a hint of a whine that Harry was sure Draco would pick up. 

“There is.” Pale fingers turned to stroke at his inner arm, softly, and Harry realized suddenly that he could not breathe. He didn’t mind. He thought he’d happily stop breathing forever if he could continue to stare at Draco and have his fingers touch him in that way. 

The blonde produced a small vial with his left hand, stoppered and containing a dark green liquid. “If you haven’t broken through the spell within the next hour, I’ll give this to you. Feed it to the bat and the effects will wear off.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Draco’s while he tried not to focus on the slight move the pink lips caused. He wanted to reach for the vial right beside him, but the blonde quickly plucked it out of sight, smirking once more. “Come on, Harry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, and Harry strained to hear him. “Are you telling me you’re not capable of getting past a simple barrier charm?” 

Draco leaned back and the spell was broken. Harry immediately took a deep breath and filled his burning lungs when, quickly turning away when he realized that he was achingly and uncomfortably hard in the middle of his transfiguration class because of Draco’s stupid eyes, and his stupid voice, and his stupid fingers. 

Behind him, Harry could hear the familiar scratching that meant that Draco had gone back to writing over his parchment, and he tried to focus on the task at hand. Like hell was he going to let Draco get the upper hand. He didn’t need a stupid potion to get past the charm the blonde git had placed. Harry could figure out how to do it just by himself, without any help.

And he did. Seconds before Draco would have reached over to hand Harry the potion with a smirk on his face, Harry blasted through the damn thing, startling his poor bat into wakefulness, and earning himself a glare from Johnston. 

Calloused fingertips then brushed across the back of his neck and Harry had to hold himself perfectly still so he didn’t grab Draco’s hand. The pale boy leaned forward and Harry could feel warm breathing against his neck that made his toes tingle. “Good job, Harry,” he whispered with another gentle stroke of his fingers.

Harry tried to pay attention for the rest of the lesson, he really did. But Draco Malfoy was a potentially unintentional tease, and he couldn’t focus on anything except pale fingers, whispered voices, and the blood that kept rushing south between his legs. As he packed up his books, Harry was immensely grateful that robes were a part of their school uniform. His little problem hadn’t gone away, and seemed to only grow worse as Draco spared him a smirk over his fully transfigured megabat.

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited and unbetaed, so please let me know how I can improve!


End file.
